


Blurring the Lines

by iamthatmonster



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, M/M, but i'm really going for a steampunk vibe, detective!Gavin, it's modern with credit cards and that sort of shit, thief!Michael, vaguely?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 16:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5547311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamthatmonster/pseuds/iamthatmonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is evil, really?</p>
<p>I mean, sure. Michael's a pickpocket, a downright thief. He's got cops on his ass left and right, and he's not sure how he's made it out unscathed for this long. But deep down inside, he's not really a bad person. Right?</p>
<p>Surely that bloody detective isn't any better. The one that prefers to go by Free over Gavin, the one that doesn't seem to care about much other than himself and making sure he gets the 'bad ones' locked up and away. He can't be that much better, can he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He met the detective at the train station.

He had made an offhanded comment, nothing more than a simple, “Greetings, officer.” However, Michael hadn’t been able to help the way his heart had begun to race, his body stiffening in a way even he knew made him look guilty. 

It was unfair, really.

Michael hadn’t stolen anything, not today. Not yet.

The detective hadn’t given him more than a second glance, simply grunting out a bit of a response as he kept his nose buried in the newspaper he had been holding. If he had taken the chance to look, if he had raised his gaze for so much as a second, Michael knew he would have been caught.

But it was worth the risk, worth the teasing.

He had seen him sitting there, hardly paying attention to his surroundings, and he hadn’t been able to help himself.

Free, his name was.

That had been earlier, though not more than a few hours prior. Michael hadn’t seen him since, though he made sure to be constantly on the alert for such things. If the detective was around, Michael would see him, unlike what could be said for Free.

Glancing around furtively, Michael’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. No matter how many times he did this, no matter how many times he stood in the same place he was right now, the thrill always sent shocks through his body. As he sucked in a harsh breath, Michael tried his hardest to slow his racing heart. After several long, deep breaths, Michael was in a state of almost euphoria.

It was as if time had suddenly slowed around him, as if he could do anything. Allowing his eyes to open once more, Michael felt as if his senses were sharpened. He forced himself to reevaluate, reminded himself that it wan’t as easy as it seemed like it should be.

That was how you got caught.

Instead, Michael forced himself to remain calm, to scan the crowds of people surrounding him. Any moment now, the next train would arrive. There would be much hustling and bustling as people both boarded and got off, the confusion and slight chaos the perfect time for Michael to make his move.

Due to the fact that he spent a good portion of his time in this very station, Michael had long since memorized the schedule by heart. Eyes darting up to focus on the large clock that announced the time, Michael quickly realized that the train would be arriving any moment.

“It’s now or never,” he muttered under his breath, ignoring the few scattered looks his spoken words had gained him. It wasn’t like he was surprised when people stared at him anymore, he had long since gotten used to that. Dirty clothes and an equally dirty face would do that to you.

The second he heard the train whistle was the moment he started to move. Pushing his way through the crowd, Michael made his way towards the train. The million thoughts that had previously been rushing through his head, before he had grounded himself, were starting to return, and he felt his heart starting to race once more.

“Damnit,” he muttered. “Fuck.”

To anyone else, the exclamations would have accompanied him having missed a train, to being late for a meeting, or any other number of things. No one expected that it was because he had simply started to think once more.

That was when it happened.

It hadn’t been long ago that the train had pulled in to the station, but it didn’t take long for the doors to open. People were busy, always too busy if you asked Michael. Unfortunately - or maybe fortunately - people didn’t ask Michael.

Merging with the crowd was easy enough - he had done this a hundred times, if not more.

However, that didn’t make it any more calming, pushing through the crowd in the opposite direction. Several others were doing the same, following his lead. In Michael’s mind, it was a wonder that the local law enforcement hadn’t figured out some sort of more organized system by now.

That wasn’t to say that Michael wasn’t thankful that they hadn’t. If they had, if they ever did, he’d have to find a new way to make a living.

Those were the thoughts rushing through his head when he finally struck.

After years of living on his own, of being forced to think on his feet, Michael had determined a target. The man was well to do - a freshly washed suit, pressed. He had a beard, but it was neat, not let to become too unwieldily. And he was in a hurry. That was the icing on top of the cake, and Michael had made his decision.

In a matter of seconds, he had found the slight bulge in the man’s clothing - the inside pocket of his jacket. That was where his wallet was hidden, a much easier target than sliding it out of his pocket.

Maneuvering his way through the crowd, Michael did his best to cause a slight ruckus. “Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me,” he repeated as he pushed his way through the crowd, drawing attention to him and giving him a bit of space to move, to breathe, to make other people uncomfortable enough that they didn’t want to look at him.

Then he was passing the man, making sure to slam their shoulder into each other’s as he did so. Michael wasn’t gentle, he didn’t want it to look like it was on purpose. He made a noise of surprise mixed with slight pain as he stopped dead in his tracks.

Turning to the other man, Michael plastered a look of fake concern on his face. After so many years, he had become quite the actor.

“I’m so sorry,” he exclaimed, knitting his eyebrows together as he placed his left hand on the other’s shoulder. It was the most casual way he could stop him, but the man only shook his head.

“It’s alright, it’s fine,” he replied, trying to push past Michael.

It had been obvious to Michael that the man had been in a hurry, and that was why it had been ideal. As the man pushed past, Michael casually allowed his hand to slide down from the man’s shoulder and across his chest, as if he was returning his arm to his own side.

However, in the process, he was pulling the man’s wallet from his jacket, sliding his own hands along with the leather piece into his pockets a moment later. No one was the wiser, each and every person much too concerned about either getting to their train or wherever they were headed from the station.

Though he tried to hold it back, Michael was unable to keep a slight smirk from tugging at the corners of his lips.

He continued to push through the crowd as he had been before, though somewhere along the way he took a bit of a detour, separating himself from what was basically a mob of people.

Then he was sitting down on one of his regular benches, ignoring the person that had already been sitting there. As he worked to calm himself, the clearing of a throat was pulling Michael from his thoughts.

“That was pretty slick.” The voice was clearly British, and Michael stiffened when he thought he recognized it. Swallowing roughly, he turned to face the man who had been sitting on the bench.

Sure enough, Free.

“W-what do you mean?” Michael said, cursing internally at the way his voice shook slightly at the beginning of his question. If only he could pull it off seamlessly, effortlessly.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Free replied, gesturing a hand towards the crowd. “I saw what you did."

Michael forced a smile, to the best of his abilities. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just trying to catch that train, but then I realized it wasn’t mine. Already missed mine, as it turns out."

“Hmm.” That was the only response the other man acknowledged him with, and that only served to make Michael that much more nervous.

“Not convincing?"

“Not particularly,” the detective replied. “Because I’d be willing to bet money that you have a wallet in your pocket that doesn’t belong to you."

Michael’s heart leapt into his throat, but he kept smiling.

“Well, you’re just pulling my fucking leg now."

“Am I? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you looked nervous. Any sort of intruder in this place would be bound to look that way, wouldn’t you say?"

“What are you, some sort of officer?” Michael found himself snapping out the words before he could control them, before he even knew they were coming out of his mouth. Even though he knew the answer to the question, he wanted to see how the other would respond.

A toothy grin crossed the other man’s face, and Michael found himself wanting to slap it off of him. “You could say that. Now before I go flashing badges, how about you pull the wallet out of your pocket, love? You know, the one that I saw you put in there a minute ago."

Swallowing roughly, Michael’s mind began to race once more. Trying to center himself as he spoke, Michael found himself on the verge of panicking. “And if I don’t?"

“Then I suppose I’ll have to get it out myself."

Though Michael wasn’t sure if Gavin was even allowed to do that, legally, he decided in a matter of moments that he didn’t want to find out. Reaching slowly into his pocket, Michael felt his body begin to tense.

“No funny business,” Michael thought he heard Free say, but the words were distant. He only nodded, barely managing to flip the wallet open within the confines of his pocket. Feeling around with his fingers quickly, he crossed those of his opposite hand, hoping desperately that he had found the ID, pulling the card out and flipping the wallet shut as he pulled it out.

Free looked more than a little suspicious, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the wallet in Michael’s hand.

“This the wallet you saw, officer?"

The man gave a curt nod, quickly grabbing the piece of leather from Michael’s hand and flipping it open. For a moment, he only looked confused, then the suspicion was returning. “ID?"

“Left it at home. Noticed in the car, but it was too late. Had to catch my train and all."

“So you were driving without an ID?"

“Got a ride."

Michael was proud of himself for his own quick thinking - these were the moments where he’d generally be running. Then the detective was pulling out a few of the credit cards, looking at the names. “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s your name?"

For a second, Michael felt his heart drop, but then he noticed that the other man had conveniently left the backs of the cards exposed, and Michael could read backwards. “Michael,” he said, trying his hardest to mask the surprise of saying his own name. “Michael Burns."

An irritated noise escaped the officer’s lips, and then he was tucking the cards back into the wallet and handing it back to Michael. He didn’t look convinced, he looked annoyed, nothing short of suspicious. However, there was no evidence that said otherwise, that gave him any reason to be, and it seemed like he knew that.

Michael’s heart was starting to calm then, slowly starting to make its way down from the home it had seemingly made in his throat. “Happy, officer?"

A grimace made its way across the other man’s face, and Michael did everything in his power not to laugh in triumph. “No,” Gavin said finally, with a small shake of his head. “No, I’m not happy. You know that. I don’t trust you, I don’t believe that wallet is yours, and I don’t believe your name is Michael. You don’t look like a Michael."

Well, that’s one thing you’re wrong about, Michael thought, but he didn’t dare say anything out loud.

“My apologies,” Michael said, as he got to his feet and began to walk away. “I wish I could assure you otherwise. However, I wish you the best on the rest of your day. Perhaps we’ll meet again."


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, so maybe Michael didn't always make the best decisions.

After such a narrow escape at the train station, Michael should have taken it easy. Gone on the down low, went underground. He should have done anything he could to appear as non-suspicious as possible, just in case he was being trailed.

That was usually the case with things like this, and Michael was generally more cautious.

However, the fact that he was currently riding high on his recent score didn't serve to assist, nor did the fact that he had already had a few drinks.

He deserved it, Michael told himself. He really, honest-to-fuck did. His target had been perfect in every way, and he had been loaded. Not only that, but he had somehow managed to outsmart the detective that always seemed to be hanging around.

The events of the previous hours had remained in his head, no matter how many times Michael attempted to banish them in some desperate move to have a clear thought process. Of course, the euphoria made that almost impossible.

As a matter of fact, that was how he now found himself in this position, in a hotel room that he hadn't paid for, hands in his pockets as he stared at the open layout of the room. The door was wide open behind him - he didn't give a single fuck. That should have been proven by the fact that he had even broke in to begin with.

Somewhere in the back of his head, Michael was worried. Worried that Detective Free had followed him somehow, as creepy as it might be. He didn't trust him for a second - the other man gave off the impression of someone who would be willing to do something dirty and underhanded 'for the greater good'.  
Michael had met cops like that before, they were the worst kind.

Most of them were after him for some reason or another, and almost none of the crimes he had committed had actually been traced back to him, or each other. As reckless as he might seem, Michael did try to be at least somewhat careful. 

That wasn't the case now however, and Michael knew it. 

Kicking the door shut behind him, Michael let a pleased sigh escape his lips. As he turned back to the door, he locked it before moving back to observe the room once more.

It was nothing if not fancy, which had been Michael's intention. For once in his life, he wanted to live like royalty, and he didn't care if he didn't have the money to pay for it. Fuck it, he wasn't hurting anyone, no one was staying in this room anyways. He wasn't bothering anyone - he wouldn't even make a mess. 

He would leave so silently and stealthily that no one would even know he had been here. It wasn't the first time he had done it, though Michael would admit that it was the first time he had tried a place so expensive.

"Don't know why I didn't do this sooner," Michael muttered to himself as he set his backpack down on the bed. Purely out of instinct, Michael twirled slightly before falling heavily back and onto the bed. "Apparently it's only when I'm drunk and celebrating."

Michael liked being alone. 

There were less judgmental stares, less people likely to call the cops when Michael had done nothing wrong. 

Letting out a heavy breath, Michael forced himself from where he had been laying and into a sitting position. He couldn't afford to get too comfortable - far from it. Indeed, since he probably shouldn't even be here in the first place, he had all the more reason to be on the lookout.

Folding his legs up and underneath of him, Michael pulled his backpack into his lap. Though he wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for, he knew that simply looking through his belongings tended to calm him. 

A wig was the first thing he pulled out.

The scoff that escaped his lips was more than a little familiar, and then he was running a hand through his own hair as he stared at the piece in his hands. Though it would be useful for a quick getaway, Michael could never see himself seriously wearing it.

He knew he had easily recognizable hair, but he honestly didn't care. 

To him, it was all part of the thrill.

The second thing he pulled out was a ticket - a ticket to the very train station he had just been at that day. It wasn't a real ticket, of course. Michael never really wanted to go anywhere on the trains, he just liked the crowds. They were convenient, and the busyness put people off their guard.

Plus, having a physical copy of something like a ticket was enough to flash at people if they ever got suspicious. He never let them look too closely, just enough to encourage them that he was telling the truth - surely he wouldn't show them a piece of paper that was something other than what  he claimed.

Despite the fact that Michael wanted to continue rummaging through the bag, despite the fact that he had already reached into the pack, his plans were soon interrupted, much to the man's dismay.

The sound of the jiggling of a doorknob reached his ears, and at that, Michael stiffened. Should a person be trying to get in with a key, it wasn't likely that they would try the doorknob first. That shouldn't have happened, and it's source definitely shouldn't have gotten more intense when met with resistance.

Michael was on his feet in a second, shoving his belongings back into his pack, and swinging it over his shoulder. He was ready to run, that much was obvious. Swallowing roughly, Michael braced himself for potential impact with the door, and his anticipation was rewarded a moment later.

In a matter of seconds, the door was hurtling open, slamming into the wall behind it, and causing Michael to jump despite the fact that he had been expecting it. For a moment, there was nothing but motion and panic, and Michael made a mad dash for the door.

It was a blind decision, made in a panic and without any sort of intelligence or clear thought. It was the complete opposite of what he had done at the station earlier, and Michael was almost ashamed of himself.

However, he figured that most people wouldn't have done much better.

He probably would have gotten cocky if he hadn't been caught first.

Unlike what he had been expecting, there wasn't just a single man, there were three. Two of them had guns. As he had attempted to run past, one of them had simply stuck out their arm, and Michael had run directly into the limb, slamming it directly into his throat and sending him hurtling to the floor.

A sound of distress escaped his lips, and he blinked several times in order to try and calm the dizziness he was currently experiencing. Then the sound of the door closing once more reached his ears.

Staring past the men, trying his hardest to ignore them, Michael noticed that the door was seriously messed up. It was bent, warped even. The piece of wood was unable to close completely, and Michael was unable to keep the corners of his lips from tugging upwards at their carelessness.

Then his eyes were coming to rest on his captors, the people that had broke down the door in the first place. In a matter of seconds, the grin was being washed from his face, and he was licking his lips nervously. 

Adam's apple bobbing, Michael plastered a shaky smile onto his face. It was obvious that it was forced, fake. If anyone would be able to detect that, it would be these men, that much Michael had decided. 

"Hey guys," he said, hand reaching to scratch at the back of his neck. 

At the movement, the two men with the guns were pointing their weapons at him, and Michael's eyes were widening. Placing his hands in front of him, Michael shook his head. "Look," he said. "I don't know who you're looking for, but I can guarantee that it's not me. I think it's pretty obvious that I look like the kind of person that could be caught up in the wrong sort of crowd - not that you guys are the wrong crowd - but I'm not."

The more he said, the more Michael realized he was rambling. 

When he rambled, he became flustered, and nothing he said made a lick of sense. It would drive most people crazy, and many times people had shouted at him for that very thing. The thought of that caused Michael to clamp his mouth shut.

If some people were willing to yell at him over something that simple, he didn't want to think about what people with guns would do.

"As it turns out, you are the one we're looking for." The man in the middle was the one speaking, the one that was seemingly unarmed. Michael honestly didn't believe that for a second, but at least he wasn't flashing whatever weapon he did have.

"I'm not-"

"You're Michael, correct? Michael Burns?"

A shocked look made its way across Michael's face, and then he was shaking his head. "No, no," he exclaimed. "No, there's been a misunderstanding, I-"

The man clicked his tongue, an annoyed expression plastered across his face. Michael's eyes drifted down to where the man's arms and shoulders were exposed - almost every bit of skin was covered in tattoos, all the way down to the fingers.

"Don't lie to me, Michael. I heard you myself, today at the train station."

Tongue darting out to wet his lips, Michael moved his arms to wrap around himself. Then he was looking away. His mind was racing - in the years that he had been alive, nothing had ever felt quite as intense as this.

Usually the risky things he was involved with were interesting, a thrill. 

This was just downright scary.

"No," he said quietly. "No, there's been a misunderstanding."

"Then explain. Because not only did I hear the words come out of your own mouth, you've also been traced to this exact location. If you're not the man we're looking for, then you sure as hell have his wallet."

Biting down on his lower lip, Michael looked up at the man desperately. As much as he wanted to get to his feet, he was scared of the guns, and he was fairly sure that his face was streaked with sweat and dirt. He was a right mess, no doubt about it.

"I, I do, but I-”

"Then what's your name?"

"Michael. But, but my last name is Jones."

"Original."

"I stole the wallet, I disposed of the ID. I-"

"Sure you did, kid. Say what you want, but you know what we want, and I expect that you're going to give us just that. Keep in mind the dangers of denying us, of denying me. Think about it. I'll be back."

Then the man was turning his back, beginning to walk away.

For the shortest of moments, Michael thought he had actually made it out without a scratch. However, Michael's eyes widened as the man gestured towards him with his head.

The last thing Michael remembered seeing was the butt of a gun before he blacked out.  
  
\---  
  
When Michael awoke, he was in the middle of the street.


End file.
